


Tweek and Craig Bully Eachother and Tweek Has a Fat Donkey Butt

by Tweekpuncher



Category: South Park
Genre: Big Butt, Blue Balls, Dry Humping, Edging, Fat Ass, Hotdogging, Husbands, M/M, Rope Bondage, Teasing, big ol fat butt ass, married, public, tons o jizz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tweekpuncher/pseuds/Tweekpuncher
Summary: Tweek uses the immeasurable power of his dumb stripper cake to edge Craig to the point of physical pain for literally no reason other than to be mean while the rest of the gang watches TV.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 9
Kudos: 72





	Tweek and Craig Bully Eachother and Tweek Has a Fat Donkey Butt

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know why my indents stopped working halfway through i don't know anything

“Hey, Craig?” Tweek called without turning from the stove, where a casserole dish full of wet enchiladas hissed and bubbled. When Craig sauntered in from the small utility room that housed their laundry machines, basket full of clean towels propped on his hip, he smiled at the sight: his petite househusband in his untied cotton apron, both hands buried deep in mismatched oven mitts. Tweek turned his high beam eyes back over his shoulder to simper, “The oven’s off, right?”

With so many of Tweek’s compulsive habits requiring firm and consistent treatment, certain minor concerns were more easily humored than defeated. Craig set the laundry basket on the rarely-used kitchen table to make a show of studying the dials over the burners. All five pointed directly upward toward “OFF.”

“All good, babe. The food smells great. Good job.” He gave Tweek’s buttcheek an appreciative squeeze, inciting a saccharine peal of giggles.

Tweek’s face was cute. His narrow, rounded shoulders coupled nicely with his tight little waist. The shapeliness of his silhouette gave his scant height an aura slightly more fae than gremlin. As far as baby-faced twinks go, he could confidently be awarded a respectable six out of ten. Maybe a low seven after a decent night’s sleep. It wasn’t any sort of miracle for him to have found an adoring spouse to trail him at his heels like a puppy. It was simply the fact that it was a towering god like Craig doing so that drew eyes.

As deluded Craig was about Tweek’s superiority over himself, he bore a single caveat that the most scrutinizing of judges couldn’t dismiss. Tweek’s ass was utterly flawless. It surpassed perfection. It had to be witnessed in real life to be believed. It almost seemed to be a separate entity that operated in uncanny symbiosis with its otherwise middling owner. His hips spanned the distance of his waist nearly twice over, and still his backside was absolutely crammed to capacity with asscheeks like kickballs. It was perky enough to be used as a shelf, yet so pillow-soft Craig could make his fingers disappear under the flesh. The wobble and jiggle of it in motion as his thighs slapped together with each step was a masterpiece. Craig would be satisfied for the rest of his life with the mere pleasure of looking upon it. Actually cramming his cock inside felt like sacrilege. Still, it was sacrilege he was willing to perform.

Craig bounced Tweek’s buttcheek as he suggested, “You should go change. The guys said they’d be here at noon.”

“I was just gonna wear this,” Tweek shrugged, pulling off his oven mitts. “Why shouldn’t I?”

With tight lips, Craig scanned the brief distance from the top of Tweek’s head to his feet. On top, one of Craig’s oversized sweatshirts from college, sleeves bunched at the wrists to expose his hands. Painfully sexy, but in a way that ached in his heart more so than his dick. White tube socks pulled up to his knees. Femme enough to be kinky as hell, but again, safe. It was his middle third that stood out, as usual: a pair of green terrycloth shorts strained to encompass the incredible width of his ass. The shorts themselves weren’t particularly conspicuous on their own. They weren’t of a particularly immodest length. It was only their absolute inefficiency in hiding a single feature of Tweek’s anatomy that had Craig’s eyebrows so high as to be obscured under his hat.

“Babe, you know I fucking _love_ those shorts when it’s just us, but—”

“Oh, Jesus, Craig, it’s just the guys. You think Clyde’s just gonna bend me over the back of the couch and start fucking me in front of everyone for the half-time show?” He widened his stance, making himself nearly as intimidating as a chihuahua puppy (this versus his usual degree of threat, which was more akin to a chihuahua puppy plush toy.)

As distracting as the picture Tweek presented was, Craig pushed forward. “I’m not worried about our _friends_ , you turd.”

“ _Agh_! Then _what_ , shitbag?”

“I just wanna be able to watch the game without worrying about nutting my pants every time you bend over, you fat-ass little _bitch_.”

Tweek’s glare held over for just a second while he processed Craig’s snarl. Briefly, his face softened, before he exploded into ugly laughter. Stoic as he was, Craig had never been good at keeping a straight face while Tweek laughed, even at his expense: his attempt to stifle his laughter only made it worse, until he guffawed like Goofy. Just as Tweek nabbed ahold of the flaps of Craig’s hat to yank him down low enough to kiss, the distinctive sound of a crutch whacking a metal door rattled through the apartment.

Craig closed his eyes as he sighed. “Maybe if we’re really quiet, they’ll assume we died and go home.”

The kiss Tweek gave his husband compensated for its terseness with depth. When he pulled back with a squelch, he had to wipe the drool from his lips onto the back of his wrist. “We’re gonna have fun. We _like_ our friends, remember?”

“No,” Craig grumbled, following Tweek toward the door.

\--

As important as every Broncos game was, it wasn’t the Superbowl or anything, so it was only the first string of guys that gathered to watch: Token, Clyde, and Jimmy. Any more than that, and they’d have no choice but to meet at Token’s much larger apartment, which would be perfectly pleasant if not for Token’s manic apologies and strained pleas for unattainable levels of tidiness. Accustomed to serving, Tweek tittered about getting plates and drinks and napkins long after the others settled. By the time he could be convinced to sit still, he’d already missed the kickoff.

He baby-talked insincere apologies as he maneuvered his fat ass between the seats and the television while the others heckled. Craig moved his elbow from the arm of the couch; it was wide and flat enough to be sat atop, albeit none too comfily. When Tweek instead opted to plunk his butt down on Craig’s lap with a slap, it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

Once he recovered enough air to speak, he wheezed, “Babe?”

Tweek hummed in acknowledgement, working at gnawing off a bite of pale celery from the pathetic “veggie platter” Clyde had brought.

“Do you want me to move?” He didn’t know where to put his hands.

“Nah,” Tweek said with his mouth full, “I’m comfy here.” And to illustrate his point, he wiggled his butt like a nesting hen settling in. Craig inhaled sharply to keep from moaning as Tweek’s cheeks parted enough to just hug down around the length of his cock, which was beginning to stir to life.

The others didn’t even think enough of their PDA to look over. There was enough general jostling on the couch that none took notice when Tweek began to rock back and forth, swiping Craig’s shaft down his crack like a credit card. His ass slapped back against Craig’s lower belly in waves.

“Babe,” Craig warned. He placed a firm hand on Tweek’s shoulder, digging his fingers in just deep enough to hint at pain.

Rather than acknowledge the poor attempt at a threat, Tweek leaned close to Token to ask, “That’s a sub kicking for the Cowboys, right?”

While Token answered, Tweek nodded and “mm-hm”ed in all the right places, though his hips never stopped bucking back into Craig’s crotch. Terrycloth could be a bit of a rough fabric, but Craig’s odd habit of expressing love through flawless laundering betrayed him; as Craig’s cock firmed, it provided comfortable friction against Tweek’s hole, making him twitch and clench in a way that only made Craig harder. Craig faked a series of coughs to cover an anguished groan, which only resulted in him honking like a seal.

“Dude,” Clyde laughed, pointing his beer toward Craig, “you look like you’re gonna barf. You been pre-gaming?”

“M-m-maybe he’s going into shock from the cruh—from the crushing weight of Tweek’s a-ass.”

“You should sit on Jimmy instead. His legs are already dead.”

Token opened his mouth to scold Clyde, but was cut off by Jimmy retorting, “My _dick_ is stronger than b-both of your weak-ass tater tot legs combined, b-b- _biii_...buh-bitch.”

Tweek bounced slightly as he laughed. Through grit teeth, Craig growled, moving his grip from Tweek’s shoulder to his neck. He risked the briefest squeeze while the others were distracted. Tweek only gazed back with a wink and stuck out his tongue.

The Bronco’s runner began a fevered sprint toward the goal line, weaving through tacklers as if they were slalom polls, and all five quieted. When Tweek craned forward in anticipation, Craig got an unwelcome view down his back. His sweatshirt had rucked up, baring the fat saddlebags of his hips, coming together over his spine to form a flat, triangular valley that seemed intended only for Craig to kiss and nibble, pointing down to that ass with its cleavage like big stripper tits shrink-wrapped into a tube top. That ass was a miracle, the singular fulmination of billions of years of evolution, the physical proof that the meaning of life was not to reproduce, but to _fuck_ , and that God loved the gays just so, so much more than the straights.

When Tweek jumped up alongside Token and Clyde in excitement at whatever-the-fuck nonsense was happening on the TV, Craig’s erection was freed to spring straight up, tenting his pre-cum darkened sweatpants up past his navel. If he had an arrow pointing to his crotch with the word “boner”, it wouldn’t have been much more conspicuous than it already was. In a panic, he gripped Tweek around the waist with both hands and slammed him back into place, flattening the protrusion back down between his thighs. Tweek yelped but made no move to escape.

While the others continued their vocal celebration, Tweek leaned back, fixing his mouth closer to Craig’s ear. “Problem?”

“You think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” Craig growled.

He shrugged loftily. “It’s not that often that I get the chance to bully you. How do you like it from the other side?”

“You know that once everyone leaves, you’re dead.”

“Hm, maybe I should get off then—” Before Tweek could even feign standing, Craig slammed his arm around his chest, pinning him in place like a seatbelt. Tweek gasped as the wind was knocked from his lungs, but recovered quickly to laugh and wiggle back once again.

Hours later, Craig had forgotten what sport they were even watching, let alone the score. Tweek would still every now and again, shifting his weight more onto the arm of the couch to give the blood a chance to cycle through Craig’s legs, letting Craig go nearly completely flaccid, before crawling back into place and riding him through the thin barrier of their pants. Eventually, Craig wanted to just come all over himself like a virgin, just to get it over with; his balls had never ached so severely, swollen up like a broken finger, throbbing with his heartbeat. Every time he came close, Tweek would slide off once again, keeping him hidden from view with his thighs but offering nothing in the way of relief.

The moment the game ended, Craig sprung to his feet, holding Tweek directly in front of him to hide his shame, shoulders pinched tight to keep him from escaping. When the others continued sitting, going back over the more exciting moments as if they all hadn’t just watched the same game, Craig overcame his shyness enough to calmly project over the din, “Leave now. Get out of my house.”

“What’s the rush?” Token asked. It wasn’t unusual for their gatherings to extend into the night, often ending in unintended sleepovers. After all, they were adults, but they weren’t _old_. Clyde and Jimmy looked personally affronted by the sudden lack of welcome.

“Get the hell out of my house or I’ll set you on fire.”

“Nooo, stay,” Tweek whined. Craig felt his shoulders going tense in his grip. “C’mon, I’ll make coffee. We can play Rock Band. W-We’ll make a pillow fort. Braid our hair. Augh! It’ll be great!”

The seated three exchanged glances. Tweek rarely exhibited his verbal tics since he’d gotten clean and been dosed up with enough Propanolol to thin his blood into a vapor. When they did arise, it was an obvious tell of mental duress.

“Tweek, is Craig gonna kick your ass when we leave?” Clyde asked carefully.

“Yes! Save me!”

“D-does he deserve it?” Jimmy asked with the same delicacy.

Craig nodded. Tweek began to shake his head, but faltered.

Like true friends, the guys quickly gathered up their shit, pocketing as many beers as they could fit into their coat pockets, and with little in the way of goodbye, filed out the door. For a moment, there was an eerie still in the apartment, interrupted only by the hum of commercials.

“I love you,” Tweek simpered.

Craig heaved Tweek into the air by the armpits, holding him at arm’s length like an angry cat. Tweek played his part in turn: he kicked and spat and yowled, refusing to take his punishment with dignity. Craig felt no need to rush as he walked Tweek down the hall toward the bedroom. He kicked the door behind them shut before he threw Tweek to the bed.

“Listen,” Tweek smiled like a submissive dog, eyes darting in a vain search for escape, “I just thought you’d wanna try out edging. It’s a thing people do.”

“Right,” Craig deadpanned, “for five hours.”

“Augh! Not five! Not—ngh—” He fell to an awed silence when Craig yanked his sweatpants down to reveal the weapon with which he’d, resentfully, been armed. His size was impressive on an average day; now, harder than he’d ever been in his life, his engorged meat rose toward the ceiling like a sequoia, the purple fist of his glans bubbling with pre-come, balls packed full and tight as if they were ready to burst at the slightest provocation. Tweek’s mouth hung open; he’d never seen his husband’s cock point up at such an extreme angle. He didn’t even know it _could_.

“Clothes off,” Craig commanded. His voice had dropped low. Tweek had no choice but to obey. As soon as he managed to untangle the problematic shorts from his ankles, he spread his legs, pulling his ass open to display his hole. For a moment, Craig was irritated by what he interpreted as an act of appeasement, before he took note of his husband’s expression. His tongue lolled, half-lidden eyes glazed over. He took a moment to appreciate the view. That hole looked so pretty, he almost changed his mind. But not quite.

“On your belly. Arms behind your back.” Tweek rolled over like a dog. Craig pulled his shirt up over his head to use as makeshift rope. What he lacked in technique, he compensated for with strength: soon Tweek’s arms were bound in a double overhand knot, wrists to his elbows. Once he was completed, Tweek wagged his fat ass in the air, pleading. Craig gave him a quick slap, pivoting from the elbow. The force nearly knocked Tweek to his side, but he recovered before he fell, popping his butt back up and begging for another.

The mattress springs whined as Craig climbed atop it, up on his knees. He grabbed Tweek’s wiggling hips and held them still. “What kinda man has such a ridiculous ass, anyway?” He bounced it up and down. “Are you even a man?”

“No,” Tweek panted, “I’m just a bitch, I’m just a bitch for you to fuck, fuck me, fuck me—”

Tweek screeched as Craig gave him another hard slap in the same place as before, but quieted. “That’s right. You were born to get bred. All a body like this is good for is milking cock.”

“Just yours.”

“That’s right. And I’’ll breed you when I want, where I want. Understand?”

“Yes, please—” he clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from babbling again.

Craig’s hands slid up the curve of Tweek’s ass, burying his thumbs down into the crack, then pulling it open wide. His asshole yawned open, twitching, permanently puffed out into a kissable little donut from years of being tugged nearly inside-out on Craig’s oversized cock. His guts fit Craig’s shape like a custom glove, molded by thousands of fucks, growing together into a perfect lock and key. Craig had to loosen his grip enough to let it close just to keep himself from giving in. Instead, he mashed his sopping glans into Tweek’s taint, making a slow, slimy trail upwards. Tweek keened as the pressure rose up to his sensitive pucker, and then blew air through his teeth when it was passed over. Up and down along the cleavage, Craig made a trail of wetness, lubing the length of his crack, only brushing past the point that had Tweek mewling.

Suddenly, Craig mashed his cheeks together, hotdogging his cock in Tweek’s buns. He ignored Tweek’s disappointed groan as he fucked just his crack. Tweek’s flesh buried his dick completely, meeting overtop of the shaft and keeping the head hidden even at the peak of his thrusting. Craig gushed precum, slippery enough for him to fuck as fast and as hard as his hips would go. His distended sack slapped hard against Tweek’s skin, mixing with the sloppy, squelching sound of his dick slipping and sliding between Tweek’s fat, wobbling cheeks, the pounding creating seismic waves in the softness, all the while Tweek, eager to please, moaned pleads and praises, begging for penetration.

When he felt Craig’s hips slow, felt his balls hitch up, Tweek exclaimed, “Wait, not yet!”

The very first spurt was of such volume, it squirted out from between Tweek’s tightly mashed cheeks like someone stepped on a mayonnaise packet. Craig opened him to free his cock, letting the massive load paint Tweek’s hair, his shoulders, the small of his back. Tweek was already bitching while Craig rode out the last of it, filling the ravine with cum so thick, it was fully opaque.

“Nooo, I wanted that _in_ me,” Tweek grumbled. Craig grinned down at the mess he’d made. He pressed Tweek’s asscheeks together and then pulled them apart, amused by the way strings of semen stretched as if he were pulling apart a grilled cheese. Tweek bucked back blindly, trying to spear himself on whatever erection remained. “C’mon, c’mon, fuck me right now—I’ll suck your dick, I’ll eat your ass—just touch my dick, finger me, whatever, I gotta _cuuuum_ I gotta cum I gotta cum—"

“Hold on baby, gotta—” Craig helped to position Tweek into an upright position. He cringed at the jizz that poured off and out of him onto the bedspread, but chose to worry about that later. As much kinder and gentler he was feeling now that his balls weren’t more strained than the New Orleans levies, lessons needed taught. He looked around the dark bedroom, pausing on those god damn shorts. The drawstring of the waist wasn’t sewn into place. He pulled it free easily.

“Yeahyeah, tie me up, use me like a fleshlight, I don’t give a fuck just pleasepleaseplease—” Tweek keened endlessly as Craig tied his ankles to the foot of the bedframe. He crawled to his feet, hands on his hips, to review his work. It wasn’t pretty. But it would serve its purpose.

He grabbed some fresh clothes from the closet. He grabbed his noise-cancelling headphones from his nightstand.

“What’re you doing?” Tweek asked. There was a quiver of fear in his voice.

“I’m gonna get cleaned up, and then I’m gonna hang out in the living room for a while. Maybe I’ll just crash on the couch tonight. Whatever.” It was hard to maintain his aloof front while a smile was wrestling so hard at his mouth.

“No,” Tweek mumbled pathetically.

“Hey, maybe if you’re nice and quiet, I’ll let you rub your dick on my foot tomorrow morning.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I guess we’ll see.” Craig smiled as he pulled the door shut behind him, leaving his semen-glazed husband in darkness.


End file.
